


Oh, How I Want To Break Free

by theinvisibledisaster



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (aren't we all), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellamy Blake is a History & Mythology Nerd, Bellamy is consistently dying of stress this entire fic, Chasing Liberty AU, Clarke as the president's daughter, Clarke is ridiculously into it, F/M, Murven as secret service agents, POV Multiple, Wells Jaha Lives, because i miss my son, it's a lewk, let the boy rest, she wants to live a little, some serious old delinquents feels because i miss them, the banter is very real
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-03 16:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17287118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinvisibledisaster/pseuds/theinvisibledisaster
Summary: A Chasing Liberty AU where Clarke is the president's daughter looking to have some fun for a change by ditching her bodyguards and Bellamy is the guy she doesn't know is a secret service agent who she keeps dragging along with her.Angst and hilarity ensues!(I swear it's better than this summary is making it sound)





	Oh, How I Want To Break Free

**Author's Note:**

> Happy January Joy!!!!
> 
> I went through my WIP list and found the least angsty AU idea I had, so it's actually MOSTLY JOYFUL!! (I mean, there's still a little bit of angst, I've gotta protect the *brand*) 
> 
> Title from the Queen song, I Want To Break Free, because there's nothing quite as joyful as Queen. 
> 
> So here's a Chasing Liberty AU for you! If you haven't seen the film, basically the president's daughter is sick of being cooped up and surrounded by secret service, so while they're on a diplomatic trip to Europe, she ditches them and drags along a guy she picks up, Ben, who keeps helping her despite his best wishes. We find out fairly early on in the film that he's a secret service agent, and then the president tells him he's not allowed to tell her, so that she gets a *taste* of freedom without actually being in any danger. Then, OBVIOUSLY they travel across Europe and fall in love, so Ben feels guilty, and there is A N G S T. 
> 
> Like I said, it's still on brand. :')
> 
> It's a great movie, and I highly recommend it, if for nothing else than the snappy one liners and Matthew Goode being stressed about Mandy Moore for two hours, but you don't have to have seen it to read this fic. I've changed a fair bit of it (because otherwise that's called _plagiarism_ kids!) and the ending is very different to the film. 
> 
> For reference, the character POV changes are shown with two long heading lines, and time jumps are shown with the smaller dashes. 
> 
> Anyway, I'll stop rambling on now, I hope you enjoy it!!

Despite being in the city of love, with a fabulous view of the Eiffel Tower and a plate full of macarons in front of her, Clarke was miserable. 

She was bored out of her mind and making faces at the nearest bodyguard, Miller, in an effort to get him to crack a smile. She had yet to succeed, but at least it was somewhat interesting. Today was nothing unusual; she was almost always bored on these trips. Her mother being the president meant that her whole life felt like a series of overlapping public appearances, and now that she was in college it was worse. While she had an excuse to get out of it during the semester, the breaks were fair game, and Abby was taking as much advantage of her free time as possible before she started her final year.

This year, her mother had sprung her some time off so she could attend their summits with them in Europe over Easter, probably because she felt a tiny bit guilty for all the photo ops she dragged her to, and all the dates she’d ruined with her armed guard. 

Clarke didn’t mind so much that she was overprotective; in fact, it was kind of sweet.

Sometimes. 

It was when that overprotectiveness led to her being in Europe but unable to go anywhere, or when eight secret service agents following her to lunch, that she had a problem. Like what had happened nearly two months earlier, back in Washington.  
  


* * *

  
  
“Oh my god, they were _everywhere!_ And they weren’t even inconspicuous! I thought they taught that at secret agent school, but apparently not.”

“There isn’t a _school,”_ Murphy said argumentatively, and Clarke threw a bracelet at him which he ducked with ease. All the agents that had followed her to the café were lined up against the wall of the Roosevelt Room in their matching black suits, watching stoically. Murphy and Raven, who were at least in civilian clothes, looked a little guilty in the corner. Or as guilty as Murphy was capable of looking.

“Please, it can’t have been _that_ bad,” Abby waved a hand dismissively and all of the agents collectively winced. Even Murphy. Her head whipped around to face them, “Was it that bad?”

“Lexa broke up with me.” Clarke snapped. 

Her mother’s retort failed on her lips. “What?”

“Yeah, apparently all of this,” she gestured wildly around them, “is too much. She doesn’t want armed guards following us everywhere. Something about it making romance and intimacy completely impossible.”

“That’s a little extreme–”

“–Murphy followed us into my _room_ last week, Mom.”

“To be fair, that had nothing to do with my orders, I just wanted to watch,” Murphy drawled, which made Clarke laugh and her mother look scandalised. She heard the low thwack she was expecting – Reyes had hit him upside the head, like clockwork. Clarke flipped him off behind her back and she could almost feel his grin in return. She really did like Murphy. At least he understood how ridiculous the situation was, even if he was being paid to participate in the insanity. She just wished she could hang out with him like normal people. It would be nice to know if they genuinely liked her, or if they would sit with her until the early hours of the morning in the college library, sharing pizza and cracking jokes, if they weren’t being paid to. 

She hoped so, but that was precisely the problem – she never knew for sure. 

“That’s enough lip, Murphy,” Abby hissed, and Clarke’s smile fell off her face. 

“At least he’s trying to cheer me up. I just told you my girlfriend broke up with me and the first thing you said was, ‘that’s a little extreme’. You could have tried asking if I was okay.” She said angrily, and her mother had the decency to look uncomfortable. 

“Sweetheart,” she started, but Clarke crossed her arms defiantly. 

“Too little, too late, Mom. At least she broke up with me before our trip to Europe. I can only imagine how hard it would be for her to wait two months for me to get back only to have to be patted down before she can greet me at the airport.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No? So after Europe, when I’m back at college with no friends and seventeen exams to study for, you’re going to start easing up on the security?”

Abby pressed her lips together. 

“No, I didn’t think so. Do you have any idea what it’s like? Trying to be normal with an entire a posse of people in suits tailing me? Do you know what it makes me?”

Abby sighed through her nose in that way she always did when she wanted to be somewhere else, “No, but I presume you’re going to tell me.”

“A social pariah, Mom! It’s hard enough being known as the president’s daughter, but when there’s armed guards following me everywhere, it’s goddamn impossible. Three years of college and I have no friends.”

“That’s not true, you have Wells.”

“Oh, congratulations to me, I have _one_ friend, who just so happens to be the vice president’s son, and who I’ve known my whole life. Clearly my social life is thriving.”

“What about McIntyre, or Murphy, or Reyes? Aren’t they your friends?”

Clarke’s nostrils flared. “They’re _barely_ friends, and the only reason I even know them is because they’re my ASSIGNED SECRET SERVICE AGENTS. I’m not even sure they would actually hang out with me if they weren’t being paid to.”

“I would,” Harper piped up from her place at the door, but Clarke glared at her and she mouthed an apology and fell silent. 

“Well, they’ll all be travelling with us.”

“Great. My one friend and three secret service agents who tolerate my company better than the others. My life is a fairytale.”

Abby tutted. “Well now you’re just being a brat.” 

“Mom. I’m not asking for much. I just want one week where I can come and go as I please. I’m an adult, I’m almost out of college, I’m more responsible than you were at my age – don’t think I’ve forgotten the photo of you doing a keg stand I found in the attic last year – and I just want _one week._ Is that seriously too much to ask?”

“At the moment? Yes. I’m sorry, Clarke, but your bisexuality is all over the news. The White House has been fielding threats against you for a month, and if you’re on your own in another country, I can’t protect you.”

“It’s Europe.” Clarke pointed out.

“There are violent homophobes in _every_ country, Clarke.”

“Don’t pull that card.”

“It’s not a card Clarke, there are hate groups out there who’ve decided that you’re their next target! Your security is staying as it is. You’re lucky I haven’t upped it.”

“I hate you.” Clarke said, but there was no heat in it, and Abby sighed again, this time one of pity. 

“I love you too sweetie,” she reached out to hug her and Clarke reluctantly reciprocated it. “It’s not how I wanted you to experience your college years either, you know. I met your father in college. I hate to think that your protections are scaring away someone who might actually like you. But I just can’t risk it, baby. Not with the threats you’ve been getting.”  
  


* * *

  
  
So, two months later, on the last leg of their European trip, Clarke was mind-numbingly bored. 

They’d been to Reykjavik, which she’d loved but hadn’t seen enough of, London, where she wasn’t allowed to leave the hotel except for diplomatic meetings, Brussels, which was nice despite her being followed into every chocolate shop by Reyes or Miller. Then it had been Amsterdam – where she was pointedly not allowed to eat anything that the secret service hadn’t checked first – followed by a flight to Kiev, and a convoy of cars through Budapest, Vienna and Bern with meetings and photo opportunities at every city they stopped at, but barely a single free moment in the entire two-month trip. 

For the most part, her mother had ignored her quiet seething, but her father at least had shared some of her annoyance. He didn’t understand why Clarke couldn’t spend a day or two seeing the sights while they attended meetings, but Abby was strict on it, and, well. You don’t argue with the president – especially if she’s your wife.

By the time they got to Paris, Clarke was ready to throw herself off the top of the Eiffel Tower if she didn’t get to see a painting without someone in a black suit breathing down her neck. 

Their last stop was to be Berlin, which they were flying to the next day and staying for a week, and then back home to Washington.

For the fifth time in the last ten minutes, Clarke glanced longingly at the Seine, thinking about all the art museums barely a stone’s throw away that she wouldn’t get to see.

“If you keep staring at the river like that, I’m going to start getting worried,” Harper teased, coming to stand beside her at the window. It seemed like a casual approach, but Clarke knew better – she was exposed where she was standing, and Harper had to come put herself in between her and any possible danger. It left a bad taste in her mouth, but at least it was Harper and not Indra. She’d never even seen that woman smile. 

“This trip ends in nine days and after all this, I won’t have even stepped _foot_ in Italy.” Clarke grumbled, and Harper nodded, conciliatory. “Wells gets to go! He’s going with his girlfriend, _without_ any escorts. What kind of male-privilege double standard is that? And what kind of European trip doesn’t at least pass through Italy?”

“The kind that only stops where it has to? We met the president of Italy while we were in Bern, so Abby invited him to America instead.”

Clarke groaned. “Only my mother could see a golden opportunity to go to Rome and squander it for diplomacy.”

“Well, I mean, she _is_ the president,” Harper pointed out, and Clarke snorted. Wells, who was floating around talking to people, finally made his way over with two croissants in hand. 

“Peace offering?” He suggested, holding one out to her. 

“You’re the worst,” she grinned, snatching it from him. “Don’t think this means you’re forgiven for taking Gina to Venice instead of me.”

“You’re right, I should totally have brought _you_ along for my two-year anniversary instead of girlfriend. My bad.”

The woman herself appeared at his elbow, beaming as she slid her arm around him. “I don’t know, at this point I think Clarke needs it. Look at her, she’s jonesing for a fix of freedom. She hasn’t even seen The Louvre.”

“It’s not even The Louvre I wanna visit most,” Clarke huffed, “I want to see the Moulin Rouge, or the Musée d'Orsay! I want to leap into the Seine without having fifty people leap in after me. I want to go to Venice with my girlfriend, or boyfriend, or…”

When she trailed away, Wells slung an arm around her shoulders, “I know. I’m sorry, it really does suck that you can’t do whatever you want. But your mom’s second term is up the year after next, and then you can go where you like.”

“I know. I just wish I could be adventurous for once. Go somewhere on my own, y’know?”

Wells pondered it for a minute. “Okay, hang on a sec- Jake!”

Jake Griffin looked up, halfway through trying to subtly stuff his face with what may or may not have been an entire baguette. Harper tried to conceal her laugh with a cough, and turned to stare out the window so she didn’t have to maintain her composure to Jake’s face. 

He strode over, “Ah, my godson, you called?”

Wells beamed, “Yeah; you agree with us that Clarke deserves to see some of the sights, right?” 

“Of course,” he said, glancing at his daughter who smiled weakly back. She didn’t really believe that whatever Wells was going to say would work. 

“I was planning to take Gina to The Louvre this afternoon, and Clarke could come with us. _Without_ the army of suits.”

“You know I want you help you, son, but it’s–”

“We’ll take two agents with us; Reyes and Murphy, and Clarke will stay in their eyeline at all times. C’mon, you know as well as I do that keeping her cooped up like this is ridiculous. Clarke’s an artist and she’s half a mile away from some of the best art museums in the world but she can’t see them. It’s practically a crime.”

Jake looked at him for a long moment, before, “You really should consider politics if that teaching stuff doesn’t work out.”

“Is that a yes?”

 _“Four_ agents – take Miller and McIntyre too. And don’t tell your mother, just slip out the back before her speech. I’ll tell her after you’ve gone.”

It took a moment to sink in, but once it did, Clarke leapt at her father, hugging him tightly, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, you’re the _best,_ thank you, thank you–”

“Yeah, that’s the only reason I do it; I need to maintain my status as the favourite parent,” he teased. She released him before spinning around and hugging Wells with equal fervour, dragging Gina in too. 

“I love you guys,” she mumbled into Wells’ shoulder, and she felt Gina giggle and pat her arm where she could reach. 

There was the sound of a spoon hitting a glass and Jake started herding them towards the door, beckoning the other three agents over as he did, filling them in.  
  


* * *

  
  
The Louvre was incredible.

Despite the long line to get in, and the four people following her tirelessly through every exhibit, she was thoroughly enjoying herself. She even caught Murphy grinning as he took in the Winged Victory and Raven’s subtle smile as she watched him, and if that wasn’t a highlight of her entire trip, she didn’t know what was. 

“Hey, Clarke, wanna come see the Mona Lisa?” Wells asked, already being half-dragged from the room by Gina, who had been eager to see the famous painting since they arrived. Clarke already felt enough like a third wheel without hovering by them at every portrait, so she shook her head.

“In a minute,” she moved into another hall full of gold frames, “have fun.”

She wandered aimlessly, just breathing it in, more than a little aware of the constant presence of Miller behind her and Reyes somewhere ahead, but not really caring. She turned in a full circle as she walked, trying to take in as much as possible, and backed directly into someone standing by a Vermeer.

He stumbled slightly, catching her by the waist as she fell, and quickly righted them both on their feet. She was facing him now, and she looked up to find a mess of dark hair and tan skin covered in freckles. 

_Oh._

“I’m so sorry, I was just trying to see it all, I didn’t mean to–”

“Don’t worry about it,” the man’s voice was deep, and she was so close that she felt it rumbling through her chest. She dimly registered that he was American, and was intending to ask him about it, but she got a little lost on the way to the words. He half-smiled, only a small tweak of his lips, but it practically lit up his whole face, and if she didn’t think he was attractive before, well… His hands fell off her waist but his eyes never left hers and her heart did a funny kind of jig against her sternum. “Hi. I’m Bellamy.”

_Oh shit._

“The Astronomer,” she blurted out, just so she could refrain from commenting on the way the light hit his cheekbones. She was an _artist._ That was why she noticed. She thought he was aesthetically pleasing; nothing more. 

He frowned for barely a moment before he seemed to remember what painting he was standing in front of. “Oh! Yeah, I was just thinking about the celestial globe he’s using to track the stars.”

It was her turn to frown. 

He saw the confusion and flushed a little, as if he’d revealed too much, looking back to the image before them. “I, uh… celestial spheres were used to track the movements of the stars. Back in ancient times they thought the Earth was fixed and the stars rotated overhead; surrounding it. The oldest depiction of one is the Farnese Atlas, which a statue of the Greek titan. Nowadays people think Atlas is holding just a globe, but he’s holding a celestial sphere: the literal embodiment of the sky. I was just thinking about how interesting it is that 700 years later people had moved that idea from a myth into a practical application for studying the stars.”

It should not be that attractive for someone to talk about history. 

_Right?_

“Wow, I bumped into a nerd,” was what she managed to say, once she could find the words. 

He grimaced, but in a friendly way, and he didn’t seem offended; it seemed more like he was kicking himself for talking so much. In fact, it sounded almost teasing when he said, “Alright, what do you think about when you see it?”

She drew her eyes away from his features that she so desperately wanted to sketch and appraised the painting thoughtfully. 

After a long moment, she said softly, “It’s lonely.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s widely considered to be a pendant painting – part of a pair – but its match, The Geographer, is in a museum in Germany. They’re separated.”

“Lonely,” Bellamy echoed, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I see that.”

“I like it. I like art museums, and everything in them; portraits, landscapes, statues... They’re all a little bit lost, some more than others, and they’re fitted in gold frames and stared at every day by hundreds of people. The paintings didn’t ask to be here, but they stay exactly where they’re supposed to anyway, even when the lights go out and there’s nobody watching. Paintings might show animals and flowers and people, but they aren’t alive and no matter how much they wish for it, they can’t run away.”

She kept her stare locked on the Vermeer, but she could feel Bellamy’s gaze burning a hole in her cheek. 

“I always thought that if I came to Paris, I would visit all the art museums,” she said wistfully, still watching the man in the frame tend to his astronomy, as if he were about to throw off the shackles of paint and start moving. “I would see paintings by Monet and Van Gogh and Matisse, and I’d feel a little less like one of them. I’d feel normal.”

“You look pretty normal to me,” Bellamy murmured, soft, like he didn’t want anyone else to hear. The moment felt so desperately intimate, and she swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable with the private thoughts she’d just expressed to a total stranger.

“You won’t be saying that when you see my tail,” she quipped, and he smiled, the tension broken. 

“You know my name, what’s yours?” 

“Clarke.”

“I like it. Comes from the Latin _Clericus,_ which is to do with scribing things of importance.”

She snorted, “Definitely not me then.”

“Oh? What do you do?”

“I’m at college, for art.” She said, squaring up to him, almost expecting him to scoff like her mother had. It was a reflex at this point, defending her life choices, but Abby was… opinionated. But of course, Bellamy didn’t do what she expected.

He only nodded enthusiastically. “Cool. I want to be a historian.”

“Doesn’t surprise me, nerd.” She teased.

He tried and failed to hide his smile at her remark. “Rude.”

“You know _Latin._ Are you aware of any non-nerds who know Latin?”

“Uh…” he offered her a sly smirk and yep. She was definitely screwed. “Me?”

She laughed and he joined in, and before she knew it, the two of them were wandering the gallery together. They passed through the halls, gazing at artworks, and stopped at the enormous depiction of The Marriage At Cana. It dwarfed them, looming over as they took it in and Reyes was somewhere to Clarke’s left when Bellamy said;

“So why can’t you?”

She tilted her head in his direction, “Why can’t I what?”

“See all the museums?”

Clarke wracked her brains for a way to tell him she was shackled to the president. “I’m travelling with my parents, and it’s this completely mind-numbing succession of meetings and five-star hotels and boring old white guys, and I can’t go anywhere. My parents are overprotective, and they’ve got people hovering around me to stop me going anywhere they don’t want me to – like an entourage. It’s okay. The one I really want to see, the Musee D’Orsay, it’s closed on Mondays anyway.”

“Oh.” He sounded really put-out on her behalf, and it brought a smile to her cheeks, despite her disappointment. 

“It’s okay, I’ll see them someday. I’ve been up the Eiffel Tower, and that’s all that anyone really cares about, right?” She said, and even she could hear how miserable she sounded. She rolled her shoulders back, “Anyway, enough about me. Are you here on your own, or did you come with someone?”

“Uh, it’s a long story,” he started, but her attention was drawn to the corner of the room, where she saw Murphy and Reyes ensconced in some kind of intense argument. Reyes grabbed Murphy’s arm and yanked him around the corner. Clarke glanced around, only to find that neither Miller or Harper were anywhere near her, and she was struck with an idea.

“Hey, wanna tell me that story later?” She suggested, moving towards the stairwell. 

He followed after her hesitantly, “Uh, sure. Why, you going somewhere?”

“Yep.” She grinned at him just as she reached the door, “You don’t have a car, do you?”

“I do, actually.”

“Perfect,” she grabbed his hand and started jogging down the stairs, taking them two at a time. He kept pace with her easily, and by the time the door flew back open and hit the wall with a bang, they were already back on the first floor and ducking through an exhibition of statues. Bellamy seemed to have realised she was running away from people, because he tugged her sideways towards a staff door, and she was suddenly following his lead instead, until they found themselves outside, leaning against the wall and gasping for air. 

“I presume we just ditched your _entourage?”_ He asked, between breaths. 

“You got a problem with that?” She raised an eyebrow challengingly, but the effect was sort of lost when she was heaving air into her lungs and was probably as red as a tomato. Bellamy just grinned back. 

“That’s my car,” he panted, pointing at the beaten down, old, blue mini cooper in front of them. “It’s actually my sister’s, so if you have a problem with it, feel free to take it up with her. I can’t promise she won’t cut you though.”

A giggle escaped her lips, and his own face lit up in response. By the time he’d unlocked the car and climbed in, he was laughing along with her, the two of them almost hysterical.

He pushed the hair from his eyes and squinted out into the road. “Where to, Princess?”

Clarke tensed. ‘The Princess’ was the code-name the secret service used for her, not to mention that people in College referred to her as “the white house princess” because of her upbringing, so it had never really felt like a term of endearment to her. She tried not to project those anxieties onto Bellamy, who was still looking at her expectantly, waiting for an answer, but it was hard. Not to mention she hadn’t really expected to get this far. She wasn’t used to having the freedom to make a choice of her own. 

She tilted her head at him, unsure. “Princess?”

“I just rescued you from the people who are supposed to protect you, if that isn’t a princess story I’ll eat my hat.”

“Nerd.” She said affectionally. 

He flushed and turned over the engine, pulling out into the street, “Where to?”

“Did we… did we just lose The Princess?” Murphy asked, staring at the security footage of Clarke and Bellamy disappearing out a back entrance. 

Reyes smacked him upside the head. 

She did that a lot.

There were six people crammed into the small room, and Murphy was getting more and more irritated the longer he was stuck there. Miller and McIntyre seemed far too relaxed, and Reyes was a stone wall of inscrutability, but he had never been good at hiding his emotions, so the frustration was plain on his face. The four of them, after losing Clarke in the long hallways and busy crowds, had approached museum security and asked to see their camera footage. Wells and Gina had sworn up and down that they had no idea Clarke was planning to bolt, and once they were sure the two were telling the truth, they told them to return to the conference. But they should have known better, because Wells was Clarke’s best friend and if she was missing, he wanted to help – and Wells didn’t go anywhere without Gina. So there were five people practically up Murphy’s ass and he was itching to kick something. 

“Camera footage has them to the end of the road, but after that, we don’t know which direction they went,” Miller said.

“What if something happens to her?” Wells chewed on his lip, and Gina rested a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. 

“Look on the bright side, at least Bellamy’s with her,” Harper said, and Raven nodded in agreement, but that only irritated Murphy more. 

“Why _is_ he with her? Isn’t he supposed to be on holiday?” He grumbled. 

“He is on holiday, visiting his sister. She lives here with her boyfriend; y’know, the buff guy who looks like he could be an MMA fighter but is actually an artist? He got hired to be a curator for one of the museums in Paris, and Octavia moved out here with him. Last year, I think. Bellamy’s been miserable without her, and he started working all the late-night shifts to distract himself, we were all telling him to take time off.” Raven said, making Murphy bristle with something that he refused to admit was jealousy. 

Miller nodded along. “Yeah, I bumped into him earlier. He seemed surprised to see me, I’m not sure he even realised the dates.”

“You spoke to him?” Raven asked. “How’s Octavia? She settling in okay?”

“Yeah, apparently she got a job teaching self-defence to high school kids.”

She winced. “Shit, I feel bad for those kids.”

“Right?” Miller grinned.

“You’d think that living in the city of love would mellow her out,” Harper mused.

“Nah,” Raven shook her head. “That girl doesn’t have a ‘mellow’ setting.”

“Well, if we’re all done catching up,” Murphy said dryly, “anyone got any ideas of how to break this to the president?”

The room fell silent as all of them internally winced at the idea of telling Abby Griffin that they lost her daughter. It was literally their only job. Well, that and making sure she didn’t die, but they had to have eyes on her to ensure that she stayed alive, so really it was all part of the same single objective. Which they’d failed at. 

Murphy pulled out his phone, “I guess I’ll do it. Don’t worry Reyes, I won’t tell her that it’s your fault.”

Raven’s head whipped around to face him. “I should fucking hope not. Because it isn’t.” 

“I’m just saying, you were the person specifically assigned to follow her. Miller was casing the area behind her to stop her being followed, and Harper and I were on exits.”

“As I recall, it was your exit she slipped through, was it not?”

Murphy spluttered, “Which I would have been standing at, had you not called me over to argue with me about which one of us was in charge–”

“–me–”

“–therefore making it your fault.” He finished, and Raven glared angrily back at him. Miller and Harper shared a look and Wells and Gina were watching on in amusement, and Murphy knew there were ways he could talk to Reyes without starting fights, but honestly he didn’t hate it when she got pissed off and told him he was wrong. “Anyway, I’m calling her.”

“Absolutely not,” Raven yanked it away just as he dialled. “We don’t want to antagonise her on top of–” She cut herself off when someone answered the phone. “Madam President, I have some news… No, it can’t wait, it’s very important. It’s about Clarke… no, it isn’t. No, it– yes ma’am. Well, actually, she gave us the slip.”

There was a very long pause where everyone held their breaths for Abby’s response. They weren’t disappointed. 

“WHAT?!” Abby’s voice was so loud that they all heard it, and Raven jerked her ear away from the phone to avoid permanently damaging her eardrums. Murphy wondered idly if the other diplomats had seen the president of the United States yelling down a phone, or if she’d ducked into another room to take the call. 

“Does anyone have Bellamy’s number?” Wells mouthed, as they all listened to Abby’s angry tirade down the phone.

All of them raised their hands. Gina was the one to speak though, “It doesn’t matter anyway, I’m pretty sure he left his phone at home and bought a cheap one for while he was travelling. Something about leaving work in the US. Fat lot of good that did him.”

“At some point we’re gonna have to talk about you still being friends with your ex,” Wells teased, kissing her temple. 

“At some point, you’re gonna have to meet him,” Gina countered, “he really is a good guy, babe. Clarke is in safe hands.”

“God I hope so.” 

Raven had handed the phone back to Murphy so he could deal with Abby’s wrath, and she was frowning at the wall, deep in thought. She glanced over at Miller, who waited expectantly for whatever idea was taking shape behind her pensive gaze. “We might not have Bellamy’s number, but… Miller, have you got Octavia’s?”

Bellamy wasn’t sure exactly how he ended up at a bar in Montmartre with the daughter of the president, watching her throw back shots like a pro, but he wasn’t exactly complaining. 

He was on holiday and he hadn’t even registered that the president would be in Paris while he was there until he bumped into Miller in the east wing of The Louvre. Miller had filled him in and he’d hugged him and told him he’d see him back at work in two weeks, and he fully intended for that to be the end of it. 

Until Clarke Griffin walked directly into him. 

Then it turned out that Clarke Griffin was _cute._

And funny.

And smart.

And he might be just a tiny bit screwed, because he helped her ditch her secret service agents and run around Paris for the entire afternoon. They’d been to the Musee de l’Orangerie, Notre Dame and the Moulin Rouge, and by the time the sun was drifting slowly towards the horizon, they were sitting in a little café by the edge of the river. 

Which happened to be where they were when a black SUV drove up near the bridge and Clarke freaked out when she saw the familiar black suits emerging from it. He calmed her down and convinced her to hide in the bathroom until they’d gone, and once he was sure she was out of sight, he jogged down the road to meet Murphy and Reyes who looked… less than impressed. 

“How did you find me?”

“You shouldn’t tell Octavia your diabolical plans,” Murphy said.

“Snitch,” Bellamy muttered to himself, making a mental note to scold his sister later. To be fair, he should have known better than to ditch lunch with her, but he felt the need to stay with Clarke, and he couldn’t lie to his sister.

“You also shouldn’t be kidnapping the daughter of the president, y’know, just as a general rule,” Murphy quipped, and received a smack to the back of the head.

“In my defence, isn’t it better that I helped her than if she’d just ditched on her own?” Bellamy said, and instead of responding, Murphy just thrust a phone into his hand. Bellamy brought it to his ear. “Yes?”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself, Mr Blake,” Abby Griffin’s voice was stern down the line, and he visibly tensed, which made Murphy smirk. “Which is why I will allow you to remain with her for the rest of the evening and still keep your job. Provided that you don’t tell her that you’re one of my agents.”

“I… uh… it’s-uh, sorry?” Great, now he sounded like a babbling idiot to the president. 

“My daughter wants to know what freedom feels like and I don’t want to deprive her of that. Within reason. So I want you to stay with her for the rest of the evening, take her to whatever French bars she wants, let her let her hair down for a night, and then return her safely to me in time for our flight tomorrow morning.”

He could dimly hear Jake in the background saying something like, “I really don’t like this idea.” And he was inclined to agree.

“You want me to _lie_ to your daughter, Madam President?” He clarified. 

She sighed. “It’s not ideal, but if this will get it out of her system for now, then yes.”

He handed the phone back to Murphy, who grinned wolfishly, “It’s all you, Blake. Have fun.”

He groaned and Raven clapped him on the back, “You’ll be okay; all you have to do is make sure she doesn’t die, or get photographed doing anything too scandalous, and everything will be fine.”

“Oh, that’s all?” He snarked sarcastically, flipping them both off as he returned to his seat at the café just moments before Clarke re-emerged.  
  


* * *

  
  
So, naturally, there he was – in a club in Montmartre, watching the president’s daughter knocking shots back, and feeling his chances of being fired going up by the second.

“When did you stop being fun?” Clarke asked, a flush in her cheeks and a slight wobble to the finger she was pointing at him that he didn’t think was intentional. 

“What?” He feigned ignorance. 

“You’ve been really fun all afternoon, but for the last few hours you’ve been all… broody,” she complained. 

_Because you seem really nice but in order to keep my job I have to spend the rest of tonight lying to you._ He thought bitterly. What he ended up saying was, “This is my natural state, Princess.”

“Well you need to lighten up,” she said, slurring her words a little. “Drink! Let loose!”

“Not a chance,” he said sternly, “I’m far too busy making sure you don’t die of alcohol poisoning. If I’m drunk how am I supposed to make sure you drink water and don’t do anything dangerous?”

She tutted at him. “You’re a bit of a mom friend, aren’t you? Like, you probably carry three different kinds of painkiller in your wallet just in case someone you know has a headache.”

“I resent the implication that that’s a bad thing,” he protested, making her smile, which was really irritating because it was such a nice smile that it almost made him forget that she was the president’s daughter. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to your hotel soon? Won’t your parents be getting worried?”

Clarke sighed, drunk enough that the action seemed almost disingenuous, but the frustration in her eyes was still as sharp now as it had been when she was sober. She pulled out her cell phone and spent a little while turning it on, frowning all the while. He wondered when she’d turned it off, and realised that it had probably happened the second she decided to make a run for it. As it lit up, it immediately started pinging as the missed calls and text messages flooded in. There was a long moment of silence as she scrolled through everything, before she turned it back off again, tucking it into her back pocket. 

“No. Everything’s fine.” 

“Are you sure? I can–”

“–It’s _fine,_ Bellamy.”

He nodded, not wanting to upset her, and she grabbed his hand and dragged him to his feet. He trailed after her as she carved a path to the door, but when the fresh air hit them, she immediately started up the steps. 

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m walking to the basilica.”

“Clarke, it’s,” he checked his watch, “two in the morning, I’m pretty sure it’s closed.”

She didn’t say anything, just readjusted her grip on his hand and tugged it gently. It didn’t take much before he was following her. When they reached the top, they found that the stairs to the top of Sacré-Cœur were gated, and he was about to breathe a sigh of relief and suggest they go back when she released him, pulled out a bobby pin and picked the lock. The door swung open with an exaggerated creak.

He blinked. “Uh.”

She glanced back over her shoulder at him, and he knew the flirtatious slant of her lashes was unintentional, that she probably wouldn’t be looking at him like that if she weren’t drunk, but his heart still stuttered. 

“I’ll fix it when we leave. Besides, we’re not vandalising the place; I just wanna see the view.”

“This is a horrible idea,” he called after her, but she was already vanishing up the spiral staircase and he knew that he could just leave her there, or call someone to pick her up, but… she was fun. 

And sweet. 

And funny, and kind and clever, and wonderful, and not even remotely his type. 

Fuck, he was so screwed.

The view was spectacular, even in darkness – the city seemed to be an almost perfectly reflection of the sky, streetlamps and stars sparkling out at each other in harmony. It was breath-taking, and she leaned out further over the ledge, feeling Bellamy’s fingers wrap around her elbow as she did. It was cute, how worried he was about her. 

“Do you think anything we do matters?” She asked softly, still staring out at the way the horizon spilled onto the ground.

She could feel his gaze on her, and he sidled up on her right, still holding her in place. “What do you mean?”

“In the grand scheme of things,” Clarke drummed her fingers against the limestone pillar to her left, “do you think we matter?”

“I hope not,” he muttered. 

“Why?” 

“In two hundred years, I’ll be long gone. Everything I did while I was alive, every bad decision I made, every good deed, it’s all going to be dust. That’s the way I want it – gone and untouched. But the people we remember - Saints and soldiers and kings - they lose every bit of good will they earned on Earth the longer they’re in the ground. I don’t want that. You can’t destroy a legacy if you haven’t left one.”

She edged closer to him and his hand automatically shifted from her upper arm, sliding between her shoulder blades to steady her. “There’s an easy solution to that.”

“Mm?”

“Just be a bad person.” She said, watching him out the corner of her eye. The corner of his lips tweaked upwards and she desperately wanted to kiss them until she couldn’t breathe. He shook his head to hide the smile and she poked him in the chest. “You can’t, can you? It would never even cross your _mind_ to be a bad guy.”

“That’s not true, I’ve done plenty wrong in my life, Princess,” and the shadows crossing his face looked suddenly darker. She was no longer leaning out but simply resting her arms on the ledge, and she lifted a hand to gently take his free one. 

“That isn’t the important part.” She murmured, and he still wasn’t looking at her, but she turned away from the view and stared directly at his profile as he focussed on the streets below. He swallowed tightly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and she knew that she had his complete attention. “The important part is how guilty you feel. The thing that makes you a bad person is doing something wrong and then moving on, leaving destruction in your wake. You don’t look like you can just walk away from the pain you’ve caused, Bellamy. You look like you carry it with you, everywhere you go.”

He flicked his gaze over to her, tilting his head in her direction with something like scrutiny between his brows. His thumb ran up and down her knuckles as they gazed at each other, the black and white Paris sky completely forgotten. When he spoke, his voice was like velvet, “Talking from experience, Princess?”

She only sighed, tugging on his hand until they were sitting on a bench, backs against the wall. From the new angle, the ledge covered most of the ground, but the stars were still perfectly visible. 

“Celestial spheres, huh?” She said conversationally, attempting to draw another smile from him. “People used to think the stars were just a blanket of lights around the Earth?”

“Something like that,” he murmured. 

Her eyelids were drooping, and she found herself leaning more heavily into his side. Instead of protesting, he shifted so she was more comfortable and rested his cheek atop her head.

“I wonder if stars are as lonely as paintings,” Clarke breathed, and when she closed her eyes, the galaxies were still there behind her eyelids.

Murphy was going to kill himself, and then he was going to kill everyone else. 

They’d lost track of Bellamy’s location sometime after midnight, and then when Clarke turned her phone back on, they thought they might have found them again, but when they got to the bar there was no sign. By that point, she’d turned her phone off again and Bellamy still had his phone on him, but it must have gone dead or something, because they couldn’t track his either. The president had called to yell at them again, and then her husband had come on the line, and honestly Jake’s air of disappointment in him and his worried tone felt so much worse than Abby’s wrath. 

He and Reyes were pacing up the Seine, trying to work out where they might have gone next, and he kept his frown on the water, deep in thought. 

“Stop thinking so hard, your brain’s already at full capacity as it is,” Raven snarked. “You wouldn’t want it to meltdown completely, would you?”

“Fuck off, Reyes,” Murphy grumbled, and she bumped her shoulder against his.

“We’ll find her, okay?” She said reassuringly. “In the meantime, Bellamy will take care of her, you know that better than anyone.”

“I’m not worried,” he grunted, and he knew it wasn’t very convincing. Everyone knew he had a soft spot for Clarke, not to mention he would actually like to _keep his job._ He tried to cover it with a grin, “Actually, Reyes, I was thinking that this was the perfect setting for a date.”

She glanced around to see that he was right; the streetlamps reflected in the river, the warm glow of the moon, the view of the Notre Dame ahead of them. “You on a last name basis with a lot of your dates then?”

“I’m almost always on a _no names_ basis with my dates,” he shrugged.

“Pig.”

“Aw, you wound me Reyes, I thought I was your cockroach.”

She glared at him.

“Come on, let’s meet back up with the others. We’re not going to find them tonight.” He said, resigned, and started making his way towards the nearest bridge. When he realised she wasn’t following him, he stopped. “What?”

She was turning in a slow circle, taking in the whole riverbank, “Clarke was right, it’s not fair that she was stuck inside the whole time we’ve been in Europe. Look around, Murphy, this is beautiful.”

He didn’t even spare a glance for the buildings either side of them, far too engrossed in the look of awe on her face. When she finally turned to face him expectantly, he cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Beautiful.”

He hoped that the dim light was enough to hide the blush creeping up his neck as she fell back into step by his side.

Clarke was woken up by the light as the sun rose high enough to catch their eyes. She realised she was still tucked into Bellamy’s side, and they were still sitting at the top of the basilica. 

Well.

That wasn’t the plan. 

Yet she found she was oddly comfortable exactly where she was, despite the coldness of the rough stone beneath her. Bellamy’s chest was rising and falling in time with hers, and his head was lolling forward, chin on his chest with his hair falling in his eyes. She managed to get her phone from her back pocket and turn it on without waking him, and was relieved to find that it was only 7:30. Plenty of time for them to get back down without being seen, and even for her to catch the 10am flight her mother expected her to be on. 

She felt guilt creeping in with the morning light and extricated herself from Bellamy’s hold, walking far enough away that she could call her mother without waking him.

Abby answered on the third ring. “Clarke?! Where the hell have you been, we’ve been so worried!”

“Sorry Mom, I… I just wanted one night of freedom. I’m on my way back to you now.”

“No, stay put, I’m sending Murphy and Reyes to you. You know you had them running around looking for you all night? Not to mention the rest of the agents assigned to you, _and_ Wells and Gina. I don’t keep you locked up for fun, Clarke, it’s for your own safety! There are hate groups in every country, and that’s not even mentioning the people in the US who would be scandalised by the president’s daughter galivanting her way through the Paris nightlife!”

Clarke watched Bellamy stirring from his sleep and squinting into the light, immediately looking for her. She smiled at him, gesturing helplessly at her phone, and relief took over his face once he realised she hadn’t gone anywhere.

“I know, Mom, I _am_ sorry, it’s just that –” her eyes widened “–what do you mean you’re sending Murphy and Reyes to me?”

“I mean they’re on their way, and you better get in the car when they arrive.” Abby said sternly. 

Clarke bristled, anger rising, and she took a deep breath; maybe her mother had just made a mistake, but she doubted it. She was impressed at how she kept her voice level when she said, “How do you know where I am, Mom?”

The deafening silence was enough to answer her question. 

“Go to hell,” she snapped, right before she launched her phone over the wall. She watched it sailing down until it smashed on the concrete so many feet below.

“Do I wanna know?” Bellamy asked as he stood, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. 

Clarke scowled, “My mother was tracking my phone. She’s sent more agen– guards to come get me, I need to get out of here.”

“Whoa, hang on a sec, Princess, this has gone from an admittedly very fun night to something that looks like kidnapping on my part – what am I supposed to do when I go back to my sister’s apartment and get arrested because your mom thinks I’m a murderer?”

“Are you?”

He huffed, but there was amusement in his cheeks. “That’s not the point; aren’t you catching a flight? Where are you gonna go?”

She started walking down the steps and he trailed behind her, his breath just barely ghosting against the back of her neck in the small space. “I’m going to Rome.”

He paused in thought for a minute, “Didn’t you say you were going to Berlin?”

“No.” Clarke almost crossed her arms defensively as she walked, but she missed a step and Bellamy caught her around the waist, gripping the railing to hold them both up. She tipped her head up to look at him and he released her, his hand staying on her hip to steady her before he pulled away. When she resumed her pace, she felt a little out of breath, and she didn’t think it was because of the stairs. “No, I said my _mom_ was going to Berlin. I was supposed to be going with them, but… after what my mom just pulled, I’m doing what I want for a change.”

“So you’re going to Rome.” He didn’t sound as enthused as she expected. 

“I’m going to Rome.”

Now he sounded downright apprehensive; “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I don’t care if it is or not – I’ve got some cash, I’ve got my passport, and I’ve got rid of the thing they’re using to track me. I can finally do whatever the hell I want.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Bellamy groaned. 

They reached the bottom of the stairs and slipped out through the gate. Clarke bent down to lock it again, and they had just barely reached the edge of the hill when she saw a caretaker go to open it for the day. Bellamy was level with her now, keeping close to her side as they started down the hill towards the nearest metro station. This was it – this was where they were going to part ways and she would never see him again. It wasn’t until the train to Gare de Lyon was already rolling up to the station that she thought to say something. She spun around, grabbing his arm. 

“Maybe not.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Maybe I’m not going to get myself killed. Maybe you should come with me.” She stared up and him, searching his expression for any sign that he would acquiesce. “Surely all the other murderers would leave me alone if you were there, being an aggressive kidnapper type.”

“Are you propositioning me, Princess?”

“Or I could go on my own,” she said, stepping backwards as the train doors opened. “But… I mean, haven’t you ever wanted to go to Rome?”

He was still frowning anxiously at her, but he couldn’t help the boyish excitement that slowly crept over his features as he stepped with her onto the metro train, arm snaking out to curl around her waist when the movement of the train almost sent her into the other door. 

Later, when they were at the international train terminal, panicking and getting repeatedly lost, she would remember that moment as the one where she first felt herself falling for him.

“Ma’am,” Murphy gritted his teeth, “she gave us the slip again.”

He shared a look with Raven over the table as they waited for an inevitable explosion of anger and rightful punishment, but nothing came. The silence on the other end was almost worse than yelling. 

Almost.

“We arrived at the basilica, we asked around, but she’s completely vanished. Blake’s phone is dead too. Based on some of the things she’s said since arriving in Europe, we think she might’ve gone to Italy.”

A strangled noise reverberated down the line, before the sound of the phone switching hands, and then it was Jake’s eerily calm voice that greeted him. “Murphy, thank you for all the hard work you’ve done for us. I don’t want you to worry; your job is not in danger–”

“What about R–”

“Agent Reyes will also keep her job, as will all of the agents assigned to take care of my daughter. This isn’t a matter of security, it’s a matter of parenting. Besides, you said Agent Blake is with her, and I trust him with my life. However…”

“Sir?” Jake Griffin was one of the few people in existence that Murphy would willingly concede authority to. The list was woefully short – Jake, Abby and their chief of staff, Charmaine Diyoza – and as far as he was concerned, anyone not on that list was incapable of inciting his respect. The only exceptions he made were for his friends, and even then he wouldn’t say he respected them: more of a begrudging enjoyment of their company. 

“I would feel more comfortable if we knew where they were planning on going, and the places they’re staying. I do trust my daughter, and Blake is one of the best damn agents we have, but at the moment we don’t even know where exactly they’re headed. I’d like to send you and Reyes.”

He glanced at Raven, who was staring incredulously back, “You’d like to send us… to Rome?” 

“To whatever city you believe my daughter is in.”

“Vegas?” He quipped, earning himself a whack up the back of the head. Jake snorted a laugh, badly concealing it in a cough when his wife made a disapproving sound. “Yessir, we will book our flight now, see if we can get our feet on the ground before they’ve even arrived.”

“Good man,” Jake said, and it sounded sincere in a way that made Murphy uncomfortable. He was relieved to hear Raven’s laugh as they rung off, and her teasing scoff at him as she rose to her feet, stretching. 

“I don’t know what you’re snickering at, Reyes, I’m a great man,” he quipped, aiming a kick at her shin. She dodged it easily, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly in his direction.

“He said _good_ man. _I_ say you’re barely human.” She retorted. _“Cockroach.”_ She added, for good measure. 

He grinned as she started searching for cheap flights to Rome. He sent a silent thanks up to Clarke for the opportunity she had inadvertently provided for him to spend a few days alone in Italy with Raven. He resolved to buy Clarke drinks for the next month, as a sincere show of his gratitude.

Bellamy watched the countryside flying past, stress boiling somewhere in his gut. It hadn’t had time to sink in before, when they were frantically searching for the right platform, but now that they had a moment to breathe, he was starting to freak out. 

He was helping the president’s daughter galivant around Europe, with no luggage and no plan. Not to mention his phone was dead, which meant that until he found a charger or a payphone, he couldn’t apologise to Abby and beg her to let him keep his job. It wasn’t helping things that every time he stole a glance at Clarke, she was staring out the train window in complete contentment, eyes sparkling with joy. She was so beautiful, and he quickly looked away before he did something stupid like tell her. 

His heart clenched painfully at the thought that he was lying to her, that there was a likelihood that she would find out who he was and would never want to speak to him again. The train slowed into a station and he tried instead to think about the lives of the many people milling about on the platform. 

“These seats taken?” A voice said, right before two people plopped down in the cabin, one next to Clarke and one next to him. The one beside Clarke was wearing goggles on his head and beaming widely. 

“I guess they are now,” Clarke replied, smiling.

“Great!” He self-fived, and the man across from him did the same. “I’m Jasper and this is Monty. What takes you fine people to Florence?”

“Florence?” Clarke asked, frowning slightly. Bellamy threw his eyes to the heavens – of course they got on the wrong train. When he brought his gaze down again, ready to placate Clarke, he could see her already doing the math in her head. When she met his eyes, she didn’t look as upset as he expected. In fact, she looked excited. She grinned over at Jasper. “We wanted to go on an adventure, and it’s mostly on the way to Rome. Plus, I’m an art student, and Bellamy here loves history, so Italy is like a dream come true for us.”

He tried really hard not to read into the way his heart stuttered when she said ‘us’. 

“Fantastic! We’re here on holiday from college.” 

Monty kicked his friend playfully, “Florence wasn’t really part of the plan, but Jasper bumped into a cute girl in Versailles last week who said she’d be in Florence on Wednesday, and like an idiot, he said we would be too.”

Jasper kicked him right back, “I may be an idiot, but I did it for love.”

Bellamy hid his laugh behind his hand, sharing an amused look with Clarke. The corners of her eyes crinkled when she curtailed a wide smile, holding a hand out for Monty to shake. 

“I’m Clarke. I’m running away from my holiday with my parents because they’re overprotective and I want to see Italy for myself.” She bit her lip nervously but they just held their fists out for her to bump.

“Cool.”

“Excellent.” 

The two of them started grilling her with questions about the rest of her holiday, and she listed off the places she’d been. Bellamy was pretty sure he was the only person who noticed the edge of sadness in her voice when she brought them up, a misery for having been in those places and not experienced them. 

Clarke was drawn into an animated conversation with Monty about the merits of making your own paint, and he recounted a time that he and Jasper had tried to make some and the fumes almost poisoned them. At one point, Jasper dozed off on Clarke’s shoulder.

Bellamy remained mostly silent, switching his observation between his new friends and the window, at the cities flying by. 

When Jasper’s weight on her shoulder started bothering her, Monty offered to switch places, and there was an awkward fumble as the train shook and she ended up nearly in Bellamy’s lap. Rather than removing herself, however, she simply slid into the thin space between him and the window. He tried to give her more space, but before he had a chance, she leaned back into his chest, making herself comfortable against him. He tensed, but she didn’t move, and after awhile he managed to relax, slipping an arm around her waist and letting himself enjoy the small smile she shot at him when their reflections flickered in the glass. 

The cabin grew quiet as Monty pulled a book from his bag and settled in to read it. When the train jolted sharply and Jasper woke up, he pulled out his phone and offered Bellamy a headphone. He discovered that they had very similar music tastes, and the silence curbed by the music in one ear and the soft hum of Clarke’s breathing in the other made him more comfortable than he’d been in a very long time. 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it must have been hours, because before long, he could see the approaching buildings of a city, one that sparked something in his mind. 

Clarke let out a breath, and her hand curled around his arm at her stomach, squeezing it to alert him in case he hadn’t caught on. He grinned and tapped the ball of his foot against Monty’s shin. In turn, he elbowed Jasper, and soon all of them were pressed up against the glass, watching the city get closer. 

“Florence,” Clarke murmured, enraptured, and Bellamy knew in that moment that he was completely gone for Clarke Griffin. 

He was _so_ getting fired.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you're enjoying it!
> 
> By the way, the biggest lie in this fic is that you can get on a single train from Paris to Florence - it takes about three changes - but this is fiction so I think I got away with it :')
> 
> What do you think so far? I adore you all and your comments breathe life into my lungs and cure my depression. <3


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